


Inktober 2020

by notjustmom



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, John is a cabbie, M/M, Rating change in Chapter 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:47:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 11,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26746837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: In September, I wrote a bit, Noisy,(Chapter 23 of Inksolation 6) an au where Sherlock meets John, who works as a cabbie. This story picks up where that left off, my plan is to write about them for the month of October... these prompts are from a list created by bluebellofbakerstreet on tumblr.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 568
Kudos: 109





	1. Golden

Sherlock checked his phone, 6:55. He couldn’t recall the last time he was awake at this time of the day, unless he was on a case, and even then, he was never this concerned about the time, or how he was dressed. He checked the mirror once more and sighed as he felt Mrs Hudson’s presence at the door.

“Come in, Mrs Hudson.”

“I heard you moving about up here, and wondered -”

“I have a meeting.”

“A meeting?”

“If you must know, I’m meeting someone for breakfast.”

Mrs Hudson raised a suspicious eyebrow at him and he rolled his eyes. “I met him yesterday, and I’m buying him breakfast today.” As he uttered the words, he realized how utterly preposterous the idea truly was. “He’s a cabbie. But he’s not just a cabbie. I know it sounds ludicrous, but -” he shrugged, then let out a groan as she fussed with a loose thread only she could see.

“I think it perfectly lovely, anyone who could get you to eat --”

“I didn’t say I was going to eat. Now, if you’ll excuse me -”

“Don’t worry, dear, he’ll wait for you.”

“How do you know?” Sherlock asked quietly, as he stopped short of the door, but didn’t turn to face her.

“He’ll wait. Go on, now.”

Sherlock took his time walking down the stairs, then paused before he opened the street door. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, afraid John would be there, and afraid he wouldn’t show at all.

“Morning,” John said with a yawn. Sherlock nodded and ran his eyes over him. He had put on his best jumper, and he had obviously taken his time shaving, his eyes dropped to his hands, no ring, no sign of attachm -

“Looked you up last night.”

“Oh, yes?” He blinked at him, and saw amusement and the golden bits in the dark blue eyes for the first time, and tried not to react, but felt his face warm, and he hoped John hadn’t noticed.

“A bit curious, unusual name and all that.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked forward on his toes. “I’m usually the first one in, like clockwork - I think they keep time by me. Ah, there he is.”

“Cap’n John.”

“Mornin’.“

“Company this morning.” The owner looked Sherlock over and nodded at him after a short inspection. “Best come in then, I’ve got your coffee ready, and your regular -”

“Not this morning, Charley, I’m taking a bit longer today. Full breakfast for two.” John grinned over at Sherlock, then seated himself at what appeared to be his table, as his coffee was already there waiting for him. 

“So. Science of Deduction, then, hmmm? What have you deduced about me this morning?” He asked with a smirk and waited for Sherlock to settle into the chair across from him, and Sherlock spared a brief thought as to what he was getting himself into, then shrugged and began.


	2. Monstrous

“You are a cabbie and a former soldier, so far so obvious.” He leaned in closer, then took John’s left hand which had been resting on the table in his and examined it closely, then placed it back down on the table. “You were also, at some point, a doctor, a very good one, and you are very left-handed.”

John lifted both of his hands and gazed at them for a moment, then nodded and picked up his coffee with his left hand and took a sip.

Sherlock waited for a beat, then went on. “You are single, no children, no pets, though you allow dogs in your cab on occasion.” He looked over at John’s phone, gold, last year’s model, but in good nick. He nodded at it, and at a shrug from John picked it up. “’To Harry, from Clara, Happy Anniversary’. You have a female relative, recently separated or divorced.” He turned it in his hands and lowered his voice, “She’s a drinker, probably the major reason for the break-up, and she gave it to you because -”

“My sister can be generous to a fault, but doesn’t do well with illness, or hospitals, or relationships for that matter.” John leaned back and crossed his arms, then sat up as Charley placed two monstrous plates of food on the table.

“Enjoy, more coffee, Cap’n?”

“Yeah, Charley, thanks.” He glanced over at Sherlock who was staring in disbelief at the plate in front of him and laughed, then picked up a piece of toast and took a bite.

“People actually eat all this?” Sherlock asked in what sounded like shock and awe to John’s ears.

“Yes, some people do it on a daily basis and live to see seventy. My mum did.” Sherlock blinked at him, but didn’t push the plate away, as John thought he might, but picked up his fork and began to eat. “Now, you’ve managed to surprise me.” 

“How so?”

“Didn’t think you’d actually eat.” He studied him for a moment then went on, “Most of the things you’ve told me about myself, most people could tell if they actually bothered to see me, but they don’t, because I’m just a cabbie. Anonymous. The things I’ve seen and heard, you wouldn’t believe. Actually though, you might. I am curious, though, how did you get that I was a doc in a former life?”

“The soap you use, standard for hospital use, and you keep your nails neat, hands are soft, but strong, especially the left. I was wrong, though, you were a surgeon, weren’t you?”

“I was.”

“A good one.”

“One of the best.” He picked up his own fork and began to eat as if he hadn’t had a real meal in days, and to Sherlock’s astonishment, he recognised how easily he could get used to this, just sitting in the company of another person, for no other reason that he enjoyed that person’s presence. He considered the thought for a few seconds, then realised he was actually hungry for the first time in weeks.


	3. Dramatic

John wiped his face with his napkin, then placed it on his plate, grabbed his phone and his keys and stood up. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I don’t just mean for the breakfast, I mean - people, people don’t look, they don’t see people like me, so I appreciate that you actually took the time to -”

“I’d like to - that is, uhm, see you again.”

“I’ll be here tomorrow, same time - oh. Unless, you meant -”

“No, I mean - breakfast, I meant breakfast.”

“Good. Right. Tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow,” Sherlock answered, and watched as John smiled back at him, then walked out the door, got into his cab and drove off.

“I know who you are.”

Sherlock turned in his seat to find Charley wiping down the counter. “Do you?”

“I know Martha - Mrs Hudson. Know her well. Stories she tells me. The Captain - he’s the best man I know. He might be just a cabbie now, but he saved my life, got hurt doing it, almost didn’t make it home, but he did -”

“And you are telling me this, because?” Sherlock asked as he pushed back from the table, and got to his feet.

“I’m telling you this, Mr Posh Consulting Detective, because he’s my friend, and he’s got enough on his plate at the moment. He doesn’t need you to make things complicated.”

Sherlock walked over to the counter, then pulled out his wallet and paid for the bill, adding a generous tip. “If you know me so well, you’ll know that I don’t have friends. I find your captain interesting, and I enjoy his company, end of story. See you tomorrow, Charley.” With a dramatic flourish of his coat, he spun on his heel and strode out of the diner, stopping short as he ran into his brother.

“Speedy’s?” Mycroft raised a dismissive eyebrow and sneered at him. “Glad to see you are eating, brother mine, but -”

“Oh piss off, Myc. I’m late for a meeting at the morgue.”

“No, you aren’t.” 

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him, then sighed. “What do you want?”

“Just checking in to see how you are faring.”

“Spying on me, you mean. Again.”

“Just concerned.”

“Right. I’m fine as you can see. Now, piss off.”

“What do you know about him?”

“Him?”

“Your breakfast companion.”

“My - damnit, Mycroft. None of your business.”

“It can be.”

“It isn’t.” Sherlock growled, then smirked as Mycroft’s phone buzzed. “Another war to start, brother mine.”

“This discussion -”

“is over. Call ahead next time, I’ll have Mrs Hudson bake a cake.”


	4. Obvious

Sherlock took off in the direction of Barts. Molly would be starting her shift soon, and she might have something interesting for him and he needed to talk to her about, about what, exactly? 

John Watson. John Watson - what was it that made him so intriguing that he hadn’t slept last night? Not that that in itself was an unusual occurrence, he rarely slept when he could help it, but ever since he had met John he found himself distracted from almost everything else that usually kept his mind in working order.

He stopped short as he found himself in front of the hospital, and sighed.

Obvious. 

He hadn’t felt this way since - well - since that one disastrous attempt at a relationship, he had known better, he had, and yet. He couldn’t help himself. But he was older now, clean for 355 days, nearly a year somehow, but to even consider a relationship at this point in time was just asking for trouble.

“You’re here early,” Molly mumbled without looking up from her latest victim. “Car crash, nothing suspicious about it.” At his silence, she glanced up and studied his face for a moment. “Shit.”

“What?”

“What’s his name?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Really.” She straightened up to her full height and crossed her arms. “Item 1: You are here before noon and I didn’t text you. Item 2: You are carrying the distinct aroma of Speedy’s coffee which I know for a fact you have never lowered yourself to drink once in your entire life, and Item 3 -”

“He’s a cabbie,” Sherlock blurted out, “and he’s gorgeous and I had breakfast with him this morning, and -”

“You ate breakfast?” Molly whispered.

“A full English.”

“What did he do, hypnotise you, or hold you at gunpoint?”

“I got a ride with him yesterday, I didn’t know where I wanted to go, just wanted to go - you know, and then I looked at him, and asked him if he had a favorite coffee place, and he drove me back to Speedy’s, and instead of taking my fare, he said I could buy him breakfast the next morning, so I did. Buy him breakfast, and I’m seeing him - having breakfast with him again tomorrow.”

Molly narrowed her eyes at him, and he tried to look away but couldn’t. “I’m -”

“ - in deep, already.”

“And Mycroft knows about him.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Still spying on you. I thought he had stopped with that nonsense. So -”

“So, what?”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Sherlock.”

“Honestly. I don’t -”

“You always know.”

“Not this time. I couldn’t sleep last night.”

“And?”

“I actually tried, but I kept thinking about him.”

“Thinking about another person who wasn’t a murderer or a corpse kept you awake. That’s definitely new -”

“Molly, I’m serious, what do I do?”

“Have breakfast with him tomorrow and see what happens. That’s what most people would do. Actually, I do have something for you -” she walked over to the large refrigerator and returned with a sealed container. “I was going to save these for the first years, but I think you need a distraction. Go home, and try not to think so much, hmm? And bring him in to see me.” She rolled her eyes at him again as she handed him the package. “I won’t interrogate him, I just want to see who has the ability to make Sherlock Holmes blush like a school boy caught with his hand in the sweets jar.”


	5. Harmless

Sherlock stood outside Speedy’s, and kept an eye on his phone, as if that would make John show up sooner. He knew he was three minutes early, but he couldn’t be cooped up any longer that morning. If he could lay claim to any virtue, patience wasn’t one of them, and he only shrugged as Charley glanced at him, then turned to look at the clock above the counter. Still two min -

“Hullo.”

Sherlock started, then turned to see John standing there, leaning on a walking stick. He had missed that somehow.

“I don’t normally use it these days, just a bad morning.”

“Nightmares.” The word slipped out before he could stop himself.

“Yeah.” John rubbed at his nose and found a spot on the sidewalk interesting until Charley opened the door, a minute early.

“Mornin’ Cap’n, Mr. Holmes.”

They settled into their chairs without speaking, and nodded their thanks as Charley put their coffees on the table. “Full breakfast this morning, gents?”

John grinned, but shook his head, “Just toast this morning.”

“Toast is fine,” Sherlock added, then began adding sugar to his coffee.

“A little coffee with your sugar?” John asked with a smirk.

“Sugar is about the only vice left to me these days.” 

“Sorry, didn’t mean -”

“No, it’s fine. If you don’t mind me asking -”

“IED, I was lucky. Shouldn’t have been there in the first place, but -” 

Sherlock watched as John’s eyes went somewhere dark, and he wished he hadn’t asked. “Sorry, too much time in group therapy lately, and -”

“No. Truth is, I’ve not talked about it, not since the debriefing, my therapist has been trying to get me to ‘open up’. I go to sessions and we talk about the weather and her cats mostly. Harmless stuff. At least she feels better afterwards.” He looked up as Charley put their toast on the table, and placed a jar of honey next to John’s plate, then turned and walked back to the kitchen. “Charley likes to say I saved him that day, truth is he pulled me out of the truck, it’s why he got shot. I managed to stop the bleeding, but he got me out of there.”

“He’s protective of you.”

“Yeah.” John began spreading honey on his toast, then stopped and put the knife down slowly. “He said something to you yesterday.”

Sherlock shrugged and picked up his coffee. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Look. I’m not really looking for -”

“No.” Sherlock shook his head. “I’m not... you should know -”

“You’re in a program. I know the look, is all. It isn’t you, I’m just getting back on my feet literally and otherwise, and I wouldn’t be good to anyone.”

“Can I hire you?”

“What?” 

“Be on call for me. For cases. I’ll make it worth your while.”

“So, let me get this straight. You want me to be your cabbie -”

“You know London well, you’re unattached like me - I have odd hours, and it would be nice to have someone I trust -”

“You don’t even know me.” John stopped and shook his head. “Trust. That’s not something I take lightly.”

“It’s not something I say lightly.” Sherlock said quietly, then took a sip of coffee, and waited for John to make a decision.


	6. Bright

John leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms and considered the man who sat in front of him. Mid, no, early 30s, obviously bright, perceptive and a bit misanthropic, beyond that - dead gorgeous, and eyes, eyes that he would give his life to protect. Hell. Where did that come from?

He leaned forward again and nodded. “Yeah. Alright. Why not? Here’s the deal. I need proper lodgings, my current bedsit is a pit, and I get a weekly stipend. Deal?”

Sherlock blinked at him, but recovered quickly enough. “There is a spare bedroom in my flat upstairs, I can show it to you now if you like, if that isn’t acceptable -”

John drank his coffee, ignored his piece of toast and pushed away from the table. “After you.” He glanced over at Charley who shrugged at him, and shook his head, but saw the twinkle in his eye, and grinned at him before he followed Sherlock out the door.

“Mrs Hudson!”

Mrs Hudson opened the door to her flat and rolled her eyes. “Sherlock. Oh. It’s Dr Watson, isn’t it, Charley’s friend?”

“Nice to see you again, Martha,” John answered with a smile.

“He’s here about -”

“The room, how nice. I have been keeping it up, just in case -” She glanced at Sherlock, then back at John and smiled to herself. “Go on up, and see if it suits, Dr Watson.” 

“Call me John, please. I haven’t been a proper doctor for a while now.”

“Ah, my dear, once a doctor, always a doctor.” She watched as Sherlock started up the stairs and whispered, “He is a good man, you know, for all his quirks, underneath it all... I hope that he’ll give it - you a chance.” She smiled at him, then nodded at the stairs and closed her door.

John was halfway up the seventeen steps when he realised he’d left his walking stick downstairs at Speedy’s, but he looked up to find Sherlock waiting for him at the top of the stairs and continued on.


	7. Strong

Sherlock opened the door and held his breath as John walked in. He let it go slowly as he watched John’s shoulders drop and he let out what sounded like a sigh of relief.

“This is -”

Sherlock bit his lip and wondered at his strong desire for John to like this room, the room that he had sheltered in for nearly a year, his inner sanctum, his place.

“- perfect. You sure about this?”

“Sure about - ?”

John turned and looked at him. “The job offer, me, here - plenty of space for a single bloke, but add another with different habits -”

“I’m sure.” Sherlock nodded, and he realised he’d never been more sure of anything in his entire life. “Let me show you the room.”

“It’s just up those stairs, right?” 

“Right.” Sherlock watched as John began to move around the room, assessing, making judgments perhaps, but it seemed to him that John was moving as if he’d been there before, as if he belonged there. John’s eyes fell on the skull on the mantle and he held his breath again.

“That’s real.”

“Yes.”

John nodded, but said nothing, and made his way upstairs. Sherlock pulled his coat tighter around himself, dropped into his chair and closed his eyes.

“It’s perfect.”

“Hmm?” Sherlock opened his eyes to find John sitting in the chair across from him.

“I said, -”

“I heard you. I should warn you, I do have a couple of bad habits...”

“Something to do with that violin over there?”

Sherlock smirked, and felt his face heat up. “And I might not talk for days...”

“I have nightmares most nights, so I stay up late watching crap telly until I crash, even though I know it’s bad for my shoulder -”

“One should know the worst, I suppose,” Sherlock muttered, but couldn’t help but grin at him.

“Yeah.” John returned the grin, then got to his feet. “I do have one last run to do today, then I’ll pick up my stuff and be back around seven tonight, if that suits?”

“Curry.”

John blinked at the non-sequitur and Sherlock cleared his throat and tried again. “Do you like curry? I was thinking I would order a take away tonight, and we can watch crap telly, or whatever.”

“Yeah, sure. See you at seven, then.”

“Seven.”

John nodded at him, then looked around the room one more time, and started to say something, but changed his mind, and walked out of the flat, closing the door behind him. Sherlock heard his footfalls on the steps, then his voice as he said something to Mrs Hudson, and the sounds of the street as he opened the door and silence again after he closed it. He took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly and closed his eyes, and for the first time in three days, easily drifted off to sleep.


	8. Ephemeral

John pushed the door open with the one box he held in his arms, then paused, before carefully placing it next to the coffee table. Sherlock was exactly where he had left him nearly twelve hours earlier, and he spent a long moment studying him. 

There was a beauty about him, in stillness, that he’d never seen in another human being before, and he wished he could draw, so he could capture it, but he knew it was ephemeral, something not meant to be trapped in time or on paper. He blinked, then turned and closed the door behind him, just loud enough to announce his presence, but not to shock the sleeper into awareness.

“Hmmph? Oh. John. What time is it?”

“About 7:30.”

Sherlock stretched and slowly uncurled from his chair, then glanced at the box by the table. He wondered for a moment at a life that could be packed away into a single box, then cleared his throat and met John’s eyes. “Haven’t been sleeping. Don’t normally sleep much anyway, but the last couple of days -”

“Yeah.” John nodded. “I’m just going to take this up, and I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Right.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and placed his standing order with an additional curry and rice, then ended the call and shrugged out of his coat, dropping it on the back of his desk chair. At a sound, he turned to find John sitting in the old, overstuffed chair that had been red at the beginning of its existence but had faded to a dusty rose, and he was struck again by the notion that John seemed to belong there, and he understood that the flat was no longer just a set of rooms, but had become home by his presence.

“You said that you play?” John asked quietly as he nodded at the violin case.

“Yes, would you like to hear something?”

“Please.”

Sherlock nodded, then opened the case and swore under his breath when his hands shook slightly. He closed his eyes, and hoped John wouldn’t see how nervous he was. He tried to imagine he was playing for an empty room, but then realised already that he couldn’t imagine this room without John and he blew out a breath, then began to play.


	9. Messy

His thoughts were unorganised and to be honest, messy, as they settled on the couch with the curries and an old episode of Doctor Who. As he began to eat, he found himself wishing for a case if only for the distraction.

“Who’s your favorite?” John asked between bites and nodded at the screen.

“Favorite?”

“Doctor.”

“I don’t - I don’t think I’ve ever seen it before.”

John put his container down and stared at him. “You’ve never seen an episode of Doctor Who?”

Sherlock shook his head and found he couldn’t stop looking into John’s eyes. John blinked at him then, and whispered, “You’ve got beautiful eyes. Sorry. I -”

“No. It’s -”

“I know what I said, about - not being interested. Thing is, the last couple of days, I didn’t sleep much, and when I did, I dreamed of you. Never happened to me before, and if I don’t kiss you right now -”

Sherlock put his curry down, then leaned in and kissed his next words away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet today, I wasn't expecting this to happen quite so soon, but the boys had other plans.


	10. Angry

Sherlock drew back, uncertain for once. Actually, ever since he had met the man who now sat silently on the couch in front of him, he had become unsure of most everything in his life. There should be some guidebook to this, whatever this was, and he found he felt irrationally angry, or at the very least perturbed with himself that he had no idea what to do next.

He looked down at his hands, then shivered as John placed both hands on his face and made him look at him again. “Hey. I don’t know what we’re doing either, but that’s okay. What I do know is that I’m not really hungry right now, and I’ve seen this episode at least five times, and I’d rather, well, I’d rather take you to bed and see what happens.” He traced Sherlock’s cheekbones with his thumbs and Sherlock couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief, as the tension fell away.

“Please?”

John smiled at him then and whispered, “That’s not something you say very often, is it.”

“No, no it isn’t.” 

John laughed, and Sherlock could tell from the look in his eyes it had been a very long time since he had anything to laugh about. He realised at that moment that he wanted to spend the rest of his life making him laugh in just that way. He stood up from the couch and offered John his hand.


	11. Sweet

John closed the bedroom door, leaned against it and closed his eyes. The only light in the room was the glow from the streets below, and Sherlock wondered if he was asking for too much, too soon. They had only just met, and yet, he felt as though he had known him -

“Shh. I can hear the gears going from here. I want this, want you more than I’ve wanted anything or anyone. Can’t explain it either, it isn’t logical, and we may be a total disaster, but I don’t care, to be honest. It’s just, it’s been a long time, and you’re stunning, and I’m -”

Sherlock got up from the bed and began to undress in silence. John’s voice faded as he walked over to him and placed his hand over Sherlock’s chest, then after a moment, withdrew his hand and pulled his jumper and vest over his head. He let them fall from his fingers then waited, his eyes never leaving Sherlock’s. “I’m -”

“You’re beautiful.”

“I’m not.”

Sherlock reached out and traced the maze of scars that decorated John’s left shoulder, then stopped and unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged out of it, stilling as John drew in a sharp breath when he tossed the shirt aside. “My last case was nearly my very last case.” He shivered as John placed his hand over the neat, round scar, evidence of his willful arrogance that had nearly got him killed. Had killed him for nearly a minute, but he had been brought back. He hadn’t understood why until now. “You. I came back so I could meet you. It’s been nearly two years, and I didn’t know why -”

John nodded, then lifted his hand, and slipped it into Sherlock’s curls then pulled him into a sweet kiss of such longing, that Sherlock nearly dropped to his knees, but John caught him and eased him onto the edge of the bed. “Sorry.”

Sherlock shook his head, then met John’s eyes and whispered, “Don’t be,” as he wrapped his arms around him and let his head fall forward against him, then sighed and closed his eyes as he felt John fingers in his hair again. “John.”

“I’m here, not going anywhere.”

Sherlock looked up then and catching the light in John’s dark eyes, felt known and loved for the first time in his life.


	12. Nimble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note the bump up in rating...

John sighed as nimble fingers deftly undid his trousers and pushed them to the floor. His hands shook slightly as he placed them on Sherlock’s shoulders, but stilled as Sherlock pressed a line of kisses across his chest, then paused as if unsure he should continue.

“Don’t stop.”

He heard a snort of laughter, then let out a giggle himself as he found himself on his back looking up into the greenest eyes he’d ever seen in his life.

“I -”

Sherlock shook his head, then leaned down to kiss him and soon any thought he might have had was forgotten. His fingers found purchase in Sherlock’s curls and he held on as he was slowly taken apart and just as slowly put back together piece by piece, as if he were a jigsaw puzzle.


	13. Oblivious

He started thinking the moment he opened his eyes and found John was still there next to him, sound asleep. He had never cared to know, had purposely never involved himself with another human being in this way, not since Uni, and that wasn’t this. _This_ was unknown territory, not unlike a case with too few clues or far too many, and he became so entangled in the maze of what could possibly go wrong that he was oblivious to John’s return to awareness until warm, dry lips found his and completely derailed his train of thought.

“Morning.”

“Morning, yes, seems to be.”

John sat up and stretched, then grinned down at him, and Sherlock realised he regretted nothing. “Hungry?”

He shook his head then reached his hands out and gathered John back into his arms. “Do you mind if we just stay here a little bit longer?”

“I don’t mind at all.”


	14. Graceful

John blinked at the light filtering through the window. It had to be midday. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept so long or so well. He yawned then rolled over, and studied the still sleeping form next to him. He was all sharp angles when awake, but at rest? At rest, the lines became soft and graceful, perhaps he had been a dancer once? 

The light of day showed what the night had hidden away from him, though he had felt it in his fingertips, the scars of what life had left behind. He reached out, but paused as Sherlock’s eyes fluttered open, and in answer to the unasked question he nodded, then closed his eyes again as John’s fingers traced over his wrist and arm.

“I’m sorry.”

Sherlock’s eyes opened again, and he whispered, “What for?”

“That I wasn’t here, that I didn’t find you - before now.” He knew that sounded arrogant, but he knew all too well the damage loneliness and pain leave in their wake.

Sherlock reached out, placed a finger on his lips and shook his head. “You are here when you were meant to be.” He cleared his throat and smiled gently at him. “Now, I am actually hungry, and I believe Charley might send a search party for you as you are a few hours late for breakfast.” He sat up and kissed John as if it wasn’t the first morning they shared, but one of hundreds, and yet, there was something in the kiss that told him more than a lifetime of kisses ever could. “Shower?”

“Yeah, be there in a minute.”


	15. Lazy

As he stepped into the shower and felt Sherlock’s arms settle around him, he considered the last weeks and months leading up to this moment. Every day had been dictated by time and routine. His life, such as it was, didn’t leave much room for, well, whatever this was.

He sighed as he registered that Sherlock’s fingers were in his hair, and he realised he was learning how to breathe again. He laughed at the idea, and felt Sherlock’s fingers stop.

“Don’t stop. I was just thinking. It’s been a long time since I’ve thought about breathing.”

“Breathing?” Sherlock asked as he resumed washing his hair.

“I know it’s ridiculous, it’s something we just do, but it just struck me that I’d been doing it wrong, or at least not -” Sherlock stopped washing his hair again, held his face in his hands, and spent a long, lazy moment kissing his words and any doubts away.

“I love you.” The words came out, as easily as, well, breathing.

“Yeah. I love you, too.”


	16. Urban

As he stepped out onto the sidewalk, the urban noises of a London functioning very much as usual shocked him back to reality. He froze until he felt Sherlock’s hand on his back, and he took a breath, then allowed himself to be guided into Speedy’s and into his usual seat at his table.

Charley walked over and crossed his arms at him, then saw him blush slightly and he rolled his eyes, but slapped him on the back. “Good for you, mate. And as for you -” he glared at Sherlock for a moment, then nodded and without another word strode back into the kitchen.

“Does that mean we’ve been given his blessing?” Sherlock asked quietly.

“No idea, to be honest, I haven’t - there hasn’t been anyone -” he shrugged and met Sherlock’s eyes, then reached for his hand and held on tightly. “Everything feels a bit -”

“Surreal?”

He nodded. “Everything except for you. I -”

Sherlock was about to say something when the door opened and after glancing at the newcomer, he sighed, but didn’t let go of John’s hand. “My past is about to catch up with us.”

“Sherlock. Mrs H said you would probably be here.” 

“DI Lestrade, Dr John Watson. John - this is Detective Inspector Lestrade of the Yard. What is it that brings you to our neck of the woods?”


	17. Aloof

John nodded at Lestrade, whose gaze settled on Sherlock’s hand which was still clasped over his. “So...”

“My lunch date, and partner. If you have need of me, we’ll be back upstairs in about an hour.”

“Right. Good. John. Sherlock.” Lestrade muttered, then took his leave abruptly.

“It’s been -”

“Two years.” Sherlock tried to keep up his aloof front, but failed. “Charley, we need coffee and food. Lots of food.” Charley winked at John and he grinned back, then squeezed Sherlock’s hand as Charley headed back to the kitchen. “Not sure if I’m ready -”

“For?”

“Whatever Lestrade needs me for. The last one. It was a bad one, not just for me. For him to come without even texting first - means he’s getting pressure from the higher ups to close it fast, and that means -” he sighed and met John’s eyes, then shook his head. “You can stay behind, it might be dangerous, and I -”

John raised an eyebrow at him. “Wasn’t it just yesterday that you hired me to be your driver, and as you told Lestrade, I am your partner. In all things. Where you go, I go.” He looked up as coffee was placed in front of him and wrapped his hand around it. “That’s the deal, yeah?”

The light in Sherlock’s eyes returned as he offered John a sheepish grin and began adding sugar to his coffee. “If you’re sure.”

“Never been more sure of anything in my life.”


	18. Anxious

Mrs Hudson opened the door and glared at Sherlock upon their return an hour and a half later. “Sherlock.”

“He’s had two cups of tea, and has been pacing the last twenty minutes?”

She raised an eyebrow at him then nodded at the stairs, “Go on, put him out of his misery. You know you’ve missed it. ” She placed a hand on his chest and whispered, “Just be careful.”

Sherlock kissed her forehead then started up the stairs.

“John -” She started, then stopped, as if afraid to say anything more.

“I’ll do my best, Mrs H.” He offered her a smile, then followed after Sherlock, and hoped his best would be enough.

“You’ve seen the headlines.”

“Yes, of course. There’s been another one, then?”

“Another what?” John asked, then picked up a paper from two days earlier and studied it for a moment. “These suicides?”

“Something different about this one, you wouldn’t be here otherwise. Oh, sit down, Lestrade, your pacing is making me anxious.”

Lestrade dropped onto the couch and finally seemed to catch his breath. He collected himself, and said finally, “This one left a note.”

“A note. Interesting. Where?”

“You’ll come?”

“Of course, text me the address, we will be there shortly.”

“We?”

“As I said, John is my driver and partner, he will be coming with me.”

Lestrade looked as if he wanted to argue, but nodded instead, then got up from the couch and left the flat.

Sherlock’s eyes fairly glittered at John, and his smile made him seem years younger. “Four suicides and now a note, John. Brilliant, just brilliant.” He pulled his phone from his pocket as it buzzed. “Brixton. Coming, John?” With a swirl of his coat, Sherlock was out the door and down the stairs before John could say a word.


	19. Grey

John pulled up in front of a house that had seen better days a few decades earlier, then turned and glanced over at Sherlock, who had been silent since they left Baker Street and looked decidedly grey around the edges.

“Sherlock? We’re here.”

“Right.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

Sherlock looked up at him, then over at someone who was walking towards the cab. “Hell.”

“Who’s that?”

“Donovan.” Sherlock flipped up the collar on his coat, and nodding at John, got out of the cab, slamming the door behind him. _“Donovan.”_

_“Holmes.”_ She glared at him for a moment then looked over at John who had appeared at Sherlock’s side and demanded, “And who is this, then?” 

John cleared his throat and was about to answer, when Sherlock strode over to the yellow crime scene tape and lifted it for John to walk under. “My partner, John Watson, this is DS Sally Donovan. Sally, John.”

She froze for a moment, then babbled, “You, have a partner? Since when? And what are you doing here?”

“I’m here because Lestrade asked me to take a look.”

She turned as her name was called and swore under her breath as Lestrade was walking towards them. “You know what I think.”

Sherlock answered coldly, “Naturally, Sally. Now. Where are we?”

“Upstairs,” Lestrade silenced Donovan with a look, then followed them inside.


	20. Foggy

“You. It is a crime scene -”

“Anderson. I’m well aware it is a crime scene, I suggest you move before there is more than one body to be investigated.” At a look from Lestrade, Anderson grumbled, but moved out of Sherlock’s way.

“John.”

John entered the room and stopped short as Sherlock knelt by the latest victim, a well-dressed woman, in a rather blinding shade of pink. “Where’s her bag?” John asked into the silence, as he slowly went to his knees across from Sherlock.

“Suitcase, small, on wheels. Most probably -”

“Pink,” John muttered, mostly to himself, and spent a moment considering how it was that he found himself examining a corpse.

“What makes you say that?” Lestrade asked from the doorway.

“Nails match the suit and shoes,” John reasoned with a sigh. He picked up her hand and studied her broken nails.

“And the note?”

“I’d look for someone named Rachel,” Sherlock answered, as he got to his feet. “What have you done with the suitcase?”

“There wasn’t a suitcase, Sherlock.”

“No suitcase?”

“What else did I miss?” Lestrade asked with a roll of his eyes.

“Married, unhappily, at least ten years, she probably works for the media, given her choice of attire - and she’s probably from Cardiff.”

“Oh, give me a break,” Lestrade mumbled to himself, but loud enough for Sherlock to hear.

“Jewelry, all clean, except for her ring, multiple affairs - unhappy marriage. She’s been in the rain recently, the only place it’s rained in the last eight hours is Cardiff. Her suitcase is missing, what does that tell you, Lestrade?”

“She ate it?”

“They are murders, Lestrade, all four of them. You’ve got a serial killer on your hands, congratulations. Come, John. I think we’re done here.”

“Sherlock -”

“Find the suitcase, you’ve got enough people wandering aimlessly around here- whoever left her here probably got rid of it as soon as he realized he had it in his possession. It’s his first mistake, maybe he’s made others. Send the other files to Baker Street.” And with that, he swept out of the room and down the stairs.

John got to his feet, dusted off his knees, and suggested quietly, “You might be looking for a cabbie.”

“What?”

“A cabbie. The victims are random, their bodies left miles from where they lived, right? A cabbie who smokes. Can’t be many of those left.”

“How -?”

“Take a whiff of her hair - smells of pine and cigarettes. Victim wasn’t a smoker. He or she tried to cover the scent of cigarette smoke with one of those deodorizers.” 

“So, you’re telling me -”

“You might have a cabbie driving around London, picking up passengers and poisoning them. Yep. Afternoon.” John removed his gloves and handed them to Lestrade, then walked out of the room, made his way down the stairs and into the foggy afternoon.

“He doesn’t have friends, you know.” Donovan’s voice growled out as wrapped her coat tighter around herself.

“Sergeant -”

“Just a friendly warning.”

John narrowed his eyes at her, but before he could say anything in response, he turned towards the sound of someone laying on the horn of his cab, then grinned at her and walked away.


	21. Alone

John looked back at Sherlock who was busy taping away on his phone. “... a cabbie.”

Sherlock mumbled, “What is?”

“She was in a cab recently.”

Sherlock looked up at him, then sighed and put his phone away, “It’s always something.”

“Cigarette smoke -”

“- and pine. I should’ve picked up on that.” Sherlock leaned against the window and closed his eyes.

“Old timer. Not many smoke anymore. It’s not something most people -”

“I’m not most people.”

“No, but you are human.”

“That’s not what most people think.”

“I’m not most people,” John answered with a smirk and relaxed as he heard Sherlock laugh, then started the cab and pulled into traffic. He was used to passengers who didn’t make conversation, but the silence that settled between them was so complete, that he almost felt he was alone, and nearly jumped as Sherlock cleared his throat and began to speak.

“I knew you would be an excellent partner.”

“Oh?” John asked as he pulled up in front of 221B and turned off the cab, then turned to look at him.

“Obviously. You are determined and stubborn, necessary traits in a doctor and soldier - and a cabbie. You are also observant, and able to hold your tongue. I know how hard it was to go on that crime scene cold like that, not to mention -”

“Donovan. What did you do to her to make her hate you like that?”

“We’ve never been friends. She thinks - she knows what I think of her abilities, because I told her and, I - well, I deduced her affair with Anderson within minutes of meeting them both. On a crime scene five years ago.”

“Ouch.”

“And then I saved her life.”

“You -”

“Yeah, I took the bullet that was meant for her. She still hasn’t forgiven me for that.” Sherlock shrugged, got out of the cab, then slowly made his way to the door and disappeared inside. John was about to follow after him when a voice stopped him cold.

“Dr Watson.”

“I’m not taking passengers.”

“Let’s go for a drive, shall we?”

John looked into his rear view mirror and sighed as he recognised the man in the back seat from a photo in the flat. He narrowed his eyes at him, but started the cab and pulled out into traffic again.

“He will be fine.”

“You have the flat under surveillance.”

“Of course I do.”

“Of course you do. I know family relationships are difficult at times -”

“You know who I am.”

“His brother.”

“He spoke of me?”

“You know he didn’t.”

“Then -”

“Small photo on the mantle.”

“That’s from -”

“It’s old, yes, but you two have the same eyes, and that nose, well - it’s unmistakable.”

The man laughed. John could tell it wasn’t something he did very often, as it came out awkwardly, and he had surprised it out of him, which he suspected was also a rare occurrence in his life.

“Very good, Dr Watson. I was going to make you an offer, but I can tell there is no point, this is not a fling for you, as I feared. You are already very much attached to my brother.”

_“Attached.”_

“Fine. If you insist on dressing it up in sentiment -”

“I will make sure nothing happens to him.”

“Best of luck with that, Dr Watson. You can drop me here.”

John stopped the cab, then looked around, but saw nothing but an abandoned warehouse. He swiveled to check the backseat, but found it empty. He got out of the cab, leaned against it and closed his eyes until he heard his phone buzz in his pocket.

_John? - SH_

He shook his head and texted back, _I’m fine. Be back soon. I’ll get dinner._ He slipped his phone back in his pocket, then rubbed his face, before he opened the back door and slid inside. He didn’t find the bug he expected to find, or any sign anyone had been in his cab, save for a blank business card with a neatly written message.

_Welcome back to the battlefield, Dr Watson. - M. Holmes._


	22. Beautiful

John pushed the door open to find Sherlock pacing the floor. He had changed out of his posh black suit and was wearing a tattered blue silk robe over a t-shirt and pajamas. 

“John.” He breathed out a sigh of relief, then sniffed at the air around him and hissed, “Mycroft.”

“My- what?” John asked as he dropped the bag on the coffee table.

“He’s essentially the British Government in whatever form is required. He appeared in your cab, made you drive to one of his - what is it?”

“I made him laugh.” John shrugged then opened the bag, and pulled out a chip. ”I got fish and chips, hope that’s okay.”

“You made my brother laugh. I haven’t heard him laugh since Thatcher was in power.”

“Made fun of his nose.”

Sherlock stared at him wide-eyed, took the offered chip from John and shoved it in his mouth, he chewed and swallowed, then whispered, “’Made fun of his nose’?” He snorted, then tried to stop from laughing but failed badly. When he recovered, he wiped the tears from his eyes, and shook his head. “You saw the photo above the fireplace. You are full of surprises, John Watson.” His voice held a new warmth, and a shiver shot through John. He had never heard a more beautiful sound in his life.

“We should probably, hmm, eat this before it gets cold,” he managed to get out, before Sherlock moved closer and licked the salt from his lips before kissing him breathless. “Or not,” he whispered, once he was able to form words again.


	23. Languid

He resurfaced slowly, registering John’s presence and warmth above everything else. As he closed his eyes and took a deep, languid breath, he tried to identify all the scents that made up the man in his arms, but gave up as John shifted against him, yawned and whispered, “Morning.”

Sherlock pressed his nose into his hair and let out a groan as he heard light tapping at the door and Mrs Hudson’s voice, “Boys?”

“We locked the door last night.”

“We did.”

“Boys! Visitor, yooo-hoooo.”

Sherlock reached for his phone and checked his texts. “Lestrade. Five texts this morning. They found the suitcase. Pink. No phone.”

“No phone?” John repeated, then sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Everyone has a phone.”

“She definitely had a phone. She wouldn’t have left her house without it.”

“So where is it?”

Sherlock fell back into his pillows, closed his eyes and pressed his fingers together, and for the first time, John knew he was forgotten.

“I’ll just get dressed, then and -” 

“She left it in the cab.”

“She what?” 

“She was smart, John, organised, all those lovers. She left it behind because she knew -”

“Knew?”

Sherlock sighed, then opened his eyes, and looked up at him.

John shrugged into his jumper then met his eyes and answered his own question. “Knew she was in trouble, and left a clue -”

“In case -”

“She didn’t make it. She left a clue for you -”

“For us.”

John shook his head, then leaned down and kissed him. “You don’t need me to solve this.”

Sherlock placed a hand on his face, gazed into his eyes, then whispered, “You - I didn’t think I needed anyone. You are needed, John.”

John rolled his eyes, but kissed him again, finished dressing and walked out of their bedroom, closing the door behind him.

“Morning. Sorry if I interrupted anything, Dr Watson.”

“Call me John, DI -”

“Greg. He never remembers I have a first name.” Lestrade grinned at him, then yawned. “Sorry. Been up all night tracking down cabbies. Suppose you have an alibi for -”

“He was with me, _‘Greg,’_ ” Sherlock declared, tying his dressing robe closed as he made his way into the kitchen and plugged in the kettle. “Tea?”


	24. Dreary

Lestrade muttered, “Tea. Yeah, sure. So -”

“He was here, with me.” 

Lestrade watched as Sherlock left the kitchen and brushed past John before he disappeared into his bedroom, and closed the door.

“So you two -”

John waited for him to finish the question.

“You and Sherlock -” Lestrade tried again, then dropped the subject as he realised John wasn’t going to make this easy on him. “Alright, look. I’ve known him for years, and I’ve never - okay. Right. None of my business. I’m here about the case.”

“The case.”

“The pink suitcase. There was no laptop or phone in it, but we got an ID, she was press, from Cardiff.”

“And Rachel?” 

“Rachel was her daughter.”

“Was.”

“Yeah.” Lestrade jumped as the kettle screamed in the kitchen and John began to search the cupboards for a teapot. “You’ve known him -”

“A few days. A-ha. Here it is.” He sniffed at the teapot and replaced it then pulled out three mugs and set about making tea.

“You know -”

“I know all I need to know,” John answered, then turned and faced the older man. “Look. I’ve been home for nearly three years now, and my life since then has been on the dreary side to say the least. Then one day, this beautiful man climbs into my cab, doesn’t know where he wants to go, instead invites me for coffee - milk?”

“Please.”

John walked over to the fridge and got out the milk. “I know this is his first case in two years, and I know why. I know enough, know what I mean?”

Lestrade watched as he added milk to the mugs then looked over at him. “Yeah. I know what you mean.” He accepted the mug of tea with a nod, then closed his eyes as he took a sip and sighed. “You’re a cabbie.”

“Yep.”

“So, why do you think he’s doing it?”

John snorted. “You want my professional opinion about why a cabbie is on a poisoning spree?”

Sherlock walked into the kitchen and began adding sugar to his tea. “Cabbies are largely anonymous, invisible to the public and yet we trust them like we trust no one else. Possible he’s just bored, but I’m guessing our particular cabbie has nothing to lose.” He sipped at his tea, then strode over to his chair and sat down.

“So, we have a cabbie who is driving around London, picking up random people and making them poison themselves,” Lestrade muttered to himself, as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“You have the pink suitcase, but no phone, and no laptop. She left the phone behind -”

“In the cab.”

Sherlock nodded.

“So?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes at him.

“So the phone number on the suitcase, will lead us to the cabbie, if he hasn’t thrown it away.”

“I knew you’d get there eventually, Lestrade.” Sherlock grinned up at John as Lestrade put down his mug and dashed out of the flat. “It takes him a bit longer, but he usually figures it out in the end.”

“You don’t want to go with him, make sure -”

“Leg work.” Sherlock snorted and put his tea aside. “I have better ways of using my time - chasing after cabs seems a waste of my talents, don’t you think?”

John smirked at him, then set down his mug and whispered, “Sure you won’t get bored of me?”

“Bored?” Sherlock shook his head and walked over to him, then kissed him lightly and whispered, “John, you may be many things, but boring isn’t one of them.”


	25. Sharp

“You’re sure?” Sherlock rolled onto his side and studied him for a long moment. “You’re sure you don’t want to help chase down the cabbie?”

“Learned my lesson the hard way. Before -" John placed his hand over the scar on Sherlock’s chest, and closed his eyes as Sherlock’s fingers settled over his. “I was reckless and fearless. No one could tell me anything.”

“And now?” John asked quietly.

Sherlock drew in a sharp breath, then answered, “Now, I have a reason -”

“A reason -”

“Someone who might miss me if something happened to me.”

John’s eyes dark eyes flashed at him. “Of course I would miss you.” He paused then muttered, “Donovan.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him and sighed. “What about her?”

“Even though she didn’t like you, you believed her life was more important than your own. You stepped in front of her.”

“She has a family, younger sisters who depend on her, who love her, and back then, I wasn’t as fortunate. The work was all I had, it was my life, the reason I got up every day. I had no reason to believe that one day -”

John placed a trembling finger over his lips and shook his head as he saw the unasked question in Sherlock’s luminous eyes, “I’m here now, Sherlock, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”


	26. Pleasant

Nothing in his life up to these last few days had ever been this simple or pleasant, and he wondered just how long it would take for him to ruin it. He had no experience with relationships, not this kind of relationship. He rubbed his eyes, sat up and moved to the edge of the bed. He shivered as he felt Sherlock’s hand on his back.

“I don’t know what I’m doing either.”

“How did you know what I was thinking?”

“It’s reasonable.”

“Reasonable?”

“You don’t really know me.”

John turned and looked at him. “I know enough. I know your heart.” Sherlock snorted, but didn’t interrupt him further. 

“You didn’t tell me you had a brother, and yet I knew the first time I walked into this flat because you keep a snap of the two of you on your mantle. It’s framed now, but it’s wrinkled as if it spent time in your wallet. It obviously meant enough for you to keep it close to you, even during those times when you didn’t speak. When you moved in here, had a place to display everything that is important to you, I’m guessing - no, I theorise the first thing that went up there after the skull was that photograph. It’s from your childhood, and you are both smiling. It’s from a day you won’t forget, and yet you keep a reminder of it in plain sight. When life was difficult - I know enough, Sherlock. You are lucky.”

“Lucky? You’ve met him.”

“Yeah. And I’m guessing he has enough to keep him busy that he could have had one of his people check me out instead of doing it himself.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way before, still creepy though.”

“Yeah, it’s still creepy, but at least you have someone who cares enough to -” he shrugged, turned away and got to his feet. “I need tea.”

“John.”

“I don’t know how to do this. I have loads of friends, well, acquaintances, but no one really knows me and I don’t have anyone I consider family.”

Sherlock slipped out of bed, walked over to him, and whispered, “Then I’ll be your family, John.” John looked up at him then leaned forward, closed his eyes as Sherlock’s arms wrapped around him, and let the tears stream down his face. Sherlock didn’t say a word, but buried his face in John’s hair and held on just a little tighter.


	27. Scientific

Minutes passed, but it could have been hours or days, he wouldn’t have cared if he spent the rest of his life simply doing this one act of holding John in his arms. If he examined that thought too closely, he might have wondered if he were actually in the middle of the best dream of his life, but his scientific, rational mind told him otherwise.

“Milk.”

“Milk?” The non-sequitur blindsided him.

“We need milk, and tea, eggs, bread, jam -”

“Honey.”

“And honey.” John nodded against his shoulder then glanced up at him and as he cleared his throat, Sherlock let his arms drop and he watched as John began to search for his clothes.

“I have a confession,” Sherlock mumbled. 

John pulled his jumper over his head and looked over at him. “You hate shopping.”

“I loathe it with every fiber of my being, but I’ll go to the shops with you.”

John blinked at him and then offered him a smile and whispered, “You do love me.” Sherlock nodded. John kissed him as if he’d been kissing him every day for months or years instead of mere days, then placed his hands on Sherlock’s face and the light in John’s deep blue eyes took his breath away. “Listen to me. I’m going to go to the shops, then I’ll come home and make you a proper tea. One day, you will get bored of me -”

“Not possible,” Sherlock muttered when he was able to speak again.

“Damn. You are beautiful. What did I do to deserve -” he sighed as Sherlock’s phone on the bedside table buzzed. He picked it up and put it into Sherlock’s hand, then finished dressing and left the room. 

Sherlock stared after John for a long moment, and considered not answering the phone, but as he heard the door to the flat close sharply, he cleared his throat and grumbled, “Lestrade, what do you want?”


	28. Fragrant

“Good morning to you too, Sunshine. Just thought you would like to know we found the cabbie and he’s -”

“Dead,” Sherlock finished.

“Yeah.”

“Heart attack or aneurysm?”

“Neither. Crashed his cab. Wait. You think -”

“Have Molly look at the remains. I think she will find underlying causes for the crash.”

“Don’t suppose you’d like to check out his apartment, I’m on my way over there, I can stop by and pick you up?”

“Text me the address and I’ll meet you there.”

“Will do.”

Sherlock ended the call, fell back into bed, and closed his eyes, then looked at the text from Lestrade. The address was a five minute walk from Baker Street. He could easily dress, meet Lestrade and be back before John returned. Lestrade knew him so well. He knew he couldn’t resist it, his first serial poisoner all the new data he could acquire - he sighed as his phone buzzed again.

What kind of honey do you want? - John

How many choices are there? 

Let’s see, 36. - John

36? 

Some are organic, there are some in squeeze bottles, others in jars? - John

Six?

Six jars of honey? - John

Lestrade’s letting me see the cabbie’s flat. 

What? - John

The cabbie’s dead.

Dead, dead? - John

What other kind of dead is there? Crashed his cab. I’ve never seen the flat of a serial killer before.

Want some company? I’ll be home in ten minutes with your six jars of honey. - John

I’ll be waiting. Love you.

Love you too. - John

Sherlock blinked at John’s last text and ran his finger over the words. How strange it was that those three little words meant so much to him now. All of his life he had tried to avoid emotion of any kind, and in less than a few days, he couldn’t imagine his life without -

“Hey.”

Sherlock bolted upright as John was sitting on the bed next to him. “John.”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Wasn’t asleep, I was just thinking.”

“Okay. You want to get ready?”

Sherlock nodded, then leaned closer and breathed in the fragrant scents of London as John kissed his forehead then stood up and offered him his hand. “C’mon, you need to shower and get dressed, Lestrade will be waiting.”


	29. Comforting

He glanced over at Sherlock and found something comforting in that he didn’t seem any different than he had been earlier that day.

“You have questions,” Sherlock sighed, then put down his fork. The three words were his first since they had returned to Baker Street an hour ago. John had started making dinner, as Sherlock had taken up his violin and played without speaking. “There was a reason he wanted me to see the flat.”

John nodded and waited for him to continue.

“You saved me,” Sherlock said simply and picked up his fork again. “This is quite good, what do you call it?”

“It doesn’t really have a name - wait - you can’t say something like ‘you saved me’ and leave it at that.”

“When I walked into the flat...” Sherlock looked into the bowl he was holding, then put it down. “The walls of his flat were covered in the cases I worked, every single one. He knew me, John. He had my medical files, he knew everything about me, and when Lestrade’s computer people got into his laptop - they realised that the victims weren’t random, he had selected them, researched them - when you picked me up that morning -”

“Wait. You’re telling me -”

“The lady in pink was supposed to be me.”


	30. Tedious

“So - you - he.” He tried to focus on the fact that Sherlock was sitting there next to him. “He -”

“Tedious,” Sherlock muttered, then froze as he saw the expression on John’s face. “Sorry. I’m used to being on my own. I’ve already had time to process -”

“You’ve already had time to process the fact that you were nearly a victim of a serial killer.”

“My brain usually works very fast. At least it used to. Until Molly completes the autopsy, I only have a theory - it’s always dangerous to theorise without all the data -”

“What’s your theory?” John asked, then put his dinner down on the coffee table and took his hand.

Sherlock nodded then moved closer to him on the couch. “I think he was given a diagnosis, perhaps an aneurysm, or terminal cancer, three years ago.”

“Three years ago?”

“The clothes in his closet were new three years ago. From the evidence, it appears that the victims weren’t random, he had spent months researching each one, there were meant to be more, but I think he realised he was running out of time. I was to be - he thought of me as his nemesis, an archenemy -”

“There aren’t archenemies in real life.”

“No? I don’t know about that. I have seen a lot of the worst of what human beings are capable of, John. I like to think that in my own small way, I have used my talents to stand against the darker side. I’m not an angel. Far from it, but I do think there are those who see the world in terms of good versus evil, instead of shades of grey, as the world really is.” He saw a flash of something in John’s eyes and nodded. “And I think you have seen your share of evil. You know it exists, and sometimes you aren’t sure if you have done everything you could to fight against it. I don’t believe in fate, but the morning you stopped, and agreed to have coffee with me - that day you saved me not only from a serial poisoner, but you also saved me from myself.” John leaned in until their foreheads touched, and Sherlock breathed out a sigh of relief then whispered, “Thank you for finding me, John.”


	31. Somber

“You were right as usual,” Molly muttered without looking up from her computer, as she heard familiar footsteps enter the morgue. 

“As were you,” Sherlock answered, and she was surprised by the change she could hear in his voice. It was no longer somber or cynical, but held a gentle warmth, and a certainty that she had never heard before in all the years she had known him. 

She glanced up at him, then saw John standing by his side and was about to speak when Sherlock shook his head at her. “You promised no interrogations. Molly Hooper, this is Dr John Watson, John - this is my friend, my best friend, Molly Hooper. Pathologist extraordinaire.”

Molly rolled her eyes, but offered John her hand. “John. Good to finally meet you.”

“Good to meet you, Molly,” John grinned at her as they shook hands and she understood what Sherlock saw in the glittering blue eyes.

“If he hadn’t crashed the cab, he would have been dead sooner than later.”

“Aneurysm?” Sherlock suggested.

“Yeah, diagnosed three years ago. Got his medical files last night - John, you might find this interesting -” 

Sherlock knew a dismissal when he heard it, and he mumbled something about coffee as he walked out of the morgue.

John took the offered file and looked through it, then shook his head. “From what Sherlock said, this man had been planning these murders for months, but according these notes -”

“He had been his GP for the last ten years of his life, and he had never exhibited the intelligence needed to plan something like this. I think there is someone or something else behind this, whoever or whatever it is, has brains, and resources. I don’t think this is over, whatever this is.”

John sighed, and handed the file back to Molly. “Mycroft had warned me.”

“You’ve met Myc?”

“Myc?” John snorted. “You don’t call him that to his face.”

“I’ve known the Holmes boys for years. Mycroft is easy to deal with once you understand his weaknesses.”

“Weaknesses?”

“One, as much as he is loath to admit it, he cares for his brother, and two: he loves cake.”

“Cake?”

“Listen to me. I did promise I wouldn’t interrogate you, but I swear if you break his heart -”

John saw the fierceness in her warm brown eyes, and nodded as he took a step back. “Got it.”

“Good.” She grinned at him, then became serious as she said, “He’s going to need you, John. He’s a brilliant man, but he’s definitely made enemies over the years, and I worry -”

“Molly. I know I haven’t known him very long, and you don’t know me -”

She swiveled and looked up at him. “He’s happy, truly happy for the first time in his life, just try to keep him safe?”

“I promise, I’ll do my best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for following along this month. I will be continuing on beginning November 1.


End file.
